


The Day Off

by Jay_eagle



Series: Moving In [5]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, caring!Douglas, sick!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_eagle/pseuds/Jay_eagle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altered_eagle requested a follow-up to Movement, in which Martin gets ill but is too proud to admit it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day Off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [altered_eagle (leisure)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=altered_eagle+%28leisure%29).



“Post-take off checks complete.”

 

“Thank you, Captain.” Douglas settled back in his chair with a weary sigh. “Can’t wait to get back.”

 

Martin him shot him a quick smile. “Me neither – that hotel was ghastly.”

 

“One of Carolyn’s finest,” Douglas commented, sarcastically. “That bathroom…”

 

“I know.” Martin laughed, but then rubbed his chest and coughed. “I swear some of the mildew’s still in my lungs.”

 

Douglas chuckled. “It was the fact that some of it was _blue_. I’ve never seen blue mould in all my years as one of Carolyn’s –“ He was cut off by Martin exploding into another coughing fit, hoarse wheezes interspersing the hacking noises.  He looked over in slight concern. “You OK?”

 

Martin nodded, his eyes watering. “Fine.”

 

Douglas reached over and squeezed his knee. Martin did look pale, and the bags under his eyes seemed even more pronounced than usual. “We’ll be home soon,” he said, reassuringly.

 

“Two more hours.” Martin leant his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. “If Karl makes us hold, I swear…” His threat trailed off into a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

“Aha.” Douglas was hit with inspiration. “Today’s game.”

 

Martin’s eyes flicked open again. “What?”

 

“Airports that could be swear words.”

 

Martin grinned. “You first.”

 

“Al Baha.”

 

“Good one.” Martin pondered. “Um… How about… Punta Islita?”

 

“Sokol.”

 

The journey passed quickly, each absorbed in the little contest, and Douglas forgot to fret about Martin’s cough.

 

* * *

The worry returned in the middle of the night, though, when Douglas rolled over in bed to find an empty - though still warm - gap on Martin’s side. “Martin?” he muttered, sleepily, still half-slumbering. “Martin?” Martin _never_ got up before morning – the combination of piloting and van jobs always enough to conk him out completely. Douglas cracked an eye open and peered blearily into the darkened bedroom.

 

Just as he was about to call out again, he spotted the line of light under the door to their en-suite. He relaxed back into the pillow as the door swung open and Martin emerged, padding as quietly as he could back to bed.

 

Douglas reached for him as he slipped back under the duvet. “There you are.” He managed to work his arms round Martin’s bare chest, but pulled back in slight shock as a shiver rippled through the captain. “Good Lord, Martin. You’re boiling.”

 

“Really?” Martin shook again. “I feel freezing.” His teeth chattered for a second, and he snuggled closer to Douglas. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake –“ He broke off, a fit of coughing overtaking him once again, to Douglas’ concern.

 

“Let me feel your forehead.”

 

“Douglas, I’m fine, honestly,” Martin protested once he’d got his breath back. “Don’t fuss.”

 

“I think you’ve got a temperature.” Martin’s brow was just as hot as the rest of him, and in Douglas’ nine years of parenting he’d got fever-guesstimating down to a fine art.

 

Martin shook him off, sounding irritated now. “I feel _fine,_ honestly.” He shrugged off Douglas’ hug, and turned his back on him.

 

“Well… if you’re sure…” Douglas’ worry hadn’t gone away.

 

“Of course I’m sure. I don’t _get_ sick.” Martin’s voice was ice-cold – ironic, Douglas reflected, since he could feel the heat radiating off Martin’s back from half a foot away.

 

“OK.” Douglas sighed. “Good night, then.” He stroked a soft hand down Martin’s flank, resisting the urge to spoon up behind him.

 

Martin seemed a little mollified. “Night.”

 

* * *

Douglas woke later than usual the next day, again finding Martin gone. He stretched and rolled wearily out of bed; MJN’s schedule had been taking it out of him all week, and the parade of truly appalling hotels Carolyn had put them up in (the crowning delight being the mould in the last one) had meant he’d had a string of short and uncomfortable nights. He was looking forward to a day curled up on the sofa, ideally with Martin entwined in his arms – if he could induce the captain to do something as decadent as relax and watch a movie.

 

The sound of violent vomiting coming from the guest bathroom when he stepped into the hallway indicated that his vision might not be achievable, though. He sighed and walked hastily down the corridor, hesitating outside the doorway. “Martin?”

 

There was a wet, retching noise before Martin replied. “I’m _fine_.”

 

Douglas raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Yes, you certainly sound it. Can I come in?”

 

“NO!” Martin’s cry was adamant.

 

“Need anything?”

 

“Just… go away, please…” The defiance had turned to plaintiveness, and Douglas’ heart sank.

 

“OK.” Despite his misgivings, he wandered away again. “Call me if you need anything.” He headed for the kitchen, intending to fetch Martin a glass of water, even if he had to leave it outside the bathroom.

 

He’d barely filled a tumbler, though, when he heard Martin’s footsteps on the lino behind him. He turned to see his partner, looking white as a sheet, heading for the kitchen table. “Good grief.” He sprang to pull out a chair for Martin to flop into, placing the glass of water on the table in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, love?” He absently felt for Martin’s forehead again, but Martin jerked away indignantly.

 

“Stop it.”

 

Douglas was utterly bewildered. “Sorry… just wanted to check your temperature.”

 

“I haven’t got a temperature.” The hectic spots of red blooming on the otherwise paper-white cheeks contradicted Martin’s denial. Even if Martin’s worryingly feverish colouring hadn’t indicated his sickness, the distinct shivering of his shoulders would have given him away.

 

Douglas didn’t know what to do. The sight of Martin looking so unwell – all he wanted to do was to swathe him in a blanket and usher him to loll wanly on the sofa. That was definitely all his partner looked capable of undertaking. But Martin was clearly intent on insisting that he wasn’t sick. How on earth was Douglas supposed to look after someone who refused to be nursed?

 

Before he could get further in his thought processes than knotting his hands distractedly over the back of a kitchen chair, Martin was standing up, a wince betraying pain he hadn’t told Douglas about. Douglas leapt forward. “Back to bed then?” he asked, hopefully.

 

“What?” Martin straightened his back, but flinched once more. “No. I’ve got a job.”

 

“You – _what_?” Douglas was utterly floored. “You said you had the day off!”

 

“I know, but...” Martin pushed a hand through his hair. “Someone rang, first thing. Emergency move. They’ll pay me double.” He coughed again, the horrid hacking noise drilling into Douglas’ brain.

 

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re _ill_. You can’t start hefting someone’s boxes around.”

 

Martin had stiffened at the admonishment. “I can do what I like.” He turned to leave, but swayed and had to catch hold of the worktop.

 

Douglas was instantly by his side. For a moment, he’d been horribly afraid Martin was about to fall down. “ _Please_ , darling…” He laid a hand on Martin’s arm, gently turned him round again. “You can’t seriously tell me you think it’s a good idea for you to start driving two tons of metal round Fitton. Not when you can barely make it across our kitchen.”

 

Martin’s tenseness persisted for a few seconds, his face defiant, but then he shuddered again and his shoulders sagged. “I… I don’t feel very brilliant…”

 

“No.” Douglas was relieved. “Please. Go and lie down –“

 

Martin abruptly broke free of his clutch and all but sprinted out of the room. Douglas gaped. “I didn’t mean you to go _that_ quickly –“ He stopped as the noise of retching again reached his ears, followed by an ominous splattering. “Oh no,” he muttered to himself, before starting into the hallway, grabbing kitchen roll as he did so.

 

He was halted for a moment by Martin’s voice, calling panickily to him. “Stay there! It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t come out…” Douglas ignored him and carried on to find where he’d got to. Just outside the bathroom door, Martin was huddled over, on hands and knees, to Douglas’ alarm. Martin looked up with a wincing expression.

 

“Douglas, no, please, I don’t want you to see…” His voice died away with a groan and he clutched at his stomach. He retched, but brought nothing up – this time. Douglas could see a dark patch on the carpet where Martin hadn’t quite made it to the bathroom, and his heart throbbed in sympathy. Martin looked utterly humiliated as Douglas reached to help him up. “Please… just leave me alone.”

 

“Don’t be daft,” Douglas soothed. “Do you need to throw up again?”

 

Martin mutely shook his head as Douglas managed to get him to stand. “’M sorry,” he mumbled, sounding deeply ashamed.

 

“Whatever for?”

 

Martin gestured at the damp floor. “Carpet.”

 

“Doesn’t matter at all.” Douglas threw the wad of kitchen roll in the vague direction of the stain and wrapped a gentle arm round his waist. “Do you want to be in the bathroom, or bed?”

 

“My van job…”

 

“Martin.” Douglas’ voice was as firm as he could make it. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He felt the captain tense against him, so continued. “Do you really think they’ll pay you if you vomit over their possessions?”

 

Martin sagged into him. “No…” he sighed. He tried to take a step forward, towards the bedroom, but weaved uncertainly again. Douglas hastened to support him, steering him gently along to their room and under the covers.

 

“I’ll get you a bucket, in case.” As Douglas turned away, he caught Martin flushing scarlet and hiding his face in his hands. Something about the mortified action released a flood of tenderness in him, such as he’d only previously known for his daughter when she was ill. There was always something so… protective in him towards Martin. Perhaps it was his partner’s comparative youth; perhaps it was the current of intense vulnerability Douglas was all too aware coursed just beneath the surface of Martin’s proud exterior. Either way, he _hated_ to see him feeling both grotty and _embarrassed_ about it.

 

He brought the bucket back and set it on the bedside table, along with the water Martin had failed to finish. “Here you are.” He perched on the edge of the bed. Martin had rolled to put his back to him, so Douglas gently reached out to turn him back over. He wanted Martin to meet his eyes, to see it was all OK. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

 

Martin began to shake his head, but was interrupted by another coughing fit. Douglas instinctively stretched a hand to smooth his forehead, soothing the clammy skin there. “You _have_ got a temperature, you daft thing,” he chided, stroking his thumb softly down Martin’s cheekbone. “What hurts?”

 

Martin gave up on his defiant pretence. “I’m all achy, all over.” He rubbed at his chest. “Hurts here from coughing.”

 

“Still feel sick?”

 

Martin blushed and shivered. “Yes.”

 

Douglas bent to kiss his damp brow, germs be damned. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed. You’ve got the flu, you haven’t done anything you need to apologise for.”

 

Martin grunted. “It’s so undignified.”

 

Douglas snorted with laughter. “Well, yes.” He patted Martin’s cheek. “But it happens to the best of us. There was this one time, I had food poisoning in Madrid…” He launched into the story, playing up the humiliation he’d felt as a shiny new FO, vomiting all over his senior captain’s shoes. Martin listened, and Douglas took it as a good sign when the captain managed a weak chuckle in places. He kept speaking, running his hand gently over Martin’s shoulders, until he saw Martin’s eyes sliding shut. He trailed off, falling silent while his hands continued softly exploring Martin’s pale skin, trying to gauge the moment when Martin slipped into sleep completely.

 

Martin surprised him after a few moments by mumbling “Thanks, Douglas.”

 

“Thought you’d drifted off.”

 

Martin slowly shook his head. “Nearly there.” He yawned. “You’re so… kind.”

 

Warmth expanded in Douglas’ abdomen, tendrils of unprompted adoration blossoming to the tips of his fingers. “I love you.”

 

“Hmm.” Martin pressed a flushed cheek into Douglas’ palm. “You too.” His eyelids flickered open, abruptly looking a mixture of concerned and stunned. Douglas’ words had obviously just sunk in. “Even when I’m… sick?”

 

Douglas smiled. “Even then.” Martin still seemed disbelieving. “Even when you throw up on our carpet, try and take van jobs you shouldn’t, when you’re sweaty from a fever and when you won’t let me look after you. Even then.”

 

“Oh. Thanks.” Martin smiled back, and allowed his eyes to close once more. Douglas leaned to kiss his tangled fringe of curls, allowing his mouth to move softly against the too-hot skin.

 

“ _Always_.”                                                    

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on my Tumblr - jay-eagle.tumblr.com.


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